I walked across the balcony in Hurt 3 with two of my roommates, six heels clicking on concrete — nostalgic sounds of Sunday morning.
“I need to go worship the Lord,” Olivia said.
“That’s kind of important,” Chloe said.
“It’s only the most important thing,” I said.
We laughed, but the words were genuine.
At church, the worship team played as they always did. With the words hallelujah, hallelujah, I rested my right hand on my stomach and outstretched my left, my palm facing the heavens to bring the melodies to God in worship. My pastor spoke about the importance of affection in faith. I remembered that as I walked across the PAC from Arts in Western Civilizaitons to chapel. The student-led worship team swelled with passion, and a broken hallelujah slipped from my mouth, tears catching in my face mask.
You say “worship,” and I picture scenes like that. Hands raised, guitar strumming, crying out to God in affection and admiration. As my roommates and I said, it was “the most important thing.” God created us for worship. But is that restricted to hymns in a church pew?
“I didn’t realize the importance of praying with my friends,” I said across the table at Barefoots Joe. “It’s not a thing I started doing till this semester. It’s been amazing.”
My friend agreed. My heart warmed as I watched a passion for the Lord light up in her face, showing me the passages she had been studying in the Word that week: Greek words scribbled in the margins, sticky note bookmarks sticking out of every free inch in the pages. Her pure awe and affection for the Bible was contagious. I felt the hallelujah there with her.
On a rainy Saturday morning, I opened my blinds and settled onto my bed. My practice of prayer has become, as a friend described, “writing letters to God.” I have a specific journal I use to pen prayer letters to Him. In messy ink, my words to God flowed like a melody; sometimes dissonant in tune, but like worship in church, it formed a song of praise. As my Keruig struggled to brew my coffee, and the rain pattered down my window, I felt the hallelujah there in my room.
Thursday afternoon, the bell tower outside my window chimed 4 p.m. A group of freshmen congregated around my coffee table with Bibles in their laps, reading through 1 John and enjoying the simple joy of one another’s company in between the lines. In analyzing Scripture and in the dumb jokes passed around after Bible study, I felt a swell of affection for them and for the Word at my fingertips. I felt the hallelujah there.
Worship is associated with the band at the head of the sanctuary, the chanting choir tucked away somewhere private or the Apple Music Christian radio station through my car speakers. These are all good things. But when I open my eyes, I find notes of worship in day-to-day moments.
In the friends who pray over my tears in Barefoots Joe, in the Bible study gathered in my dorm room, in the laying-on-the-floor laughing in a friend’s dorm, in the simple yet powerful “I’m praying for you” text, there is song. There is a Hallelujah in every space.
